


Quis Custodiet Ipsos Custodes?

by Yamx



Series: Morituri [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-23
Updated: 2009-11-23
Packaged: 2017-10-21 10:24:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/224141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yamx/pseuds/Yamx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two lost souls meet, two broken champions collide. But will they make each other better or worse?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quis Custodiet Ipsos Custodes?

**Author's Note:**

> **Spoilers:** _DW: Waters of Mars; TW: Children of Earth_  
>  **Beta:** Wendymr

Jack moans and wriggles his hips, grinding his back into the customer. He’s glad the burly soldier can’t see his face from behind, because he knows his eyes are cold and distant, his expression blank. He’s learned to fake just enough reaction to keep his customers happy, keep them coming back, but he derives no joy from this. He hasn’t felt joy since that horrible day Ianto died in his arms, since Steven- 

  
He groans, and just manages to make it seem like a sound of passion, not despair.    
  


  
“Hey, you a’right there? ‘M I bein’ too rough?”   
  


  
Or so he thought. Damn. He bites back a curse, because now he’s got to put on an even better show to get things back on track.    
  


  
“Oh, yeah, Tiger. Aww, this is good, so good…” He makes his voice low and throaty.    
  


  
Apparently, he’s not as good an actor anymore as he used to be when he was taking “Advanced Seduction Techniques” at the    
  
  
Time   
Academy   
. The soldier finishes up quickly, thrusts him his money with what almost sounds like a mumbled apology and leaves, not looking him in the eyes. Damn. Another regular lost.   


  
He pulls up his pants and leaves the alley. Without even looking, he tosses the money he earned to the street urchins, keeping back just enough for a cold shower at the bath house. He doesn’t need to eat – he had some bread only three days ago – but if he’s not clean he can’t attract more customers, and without customers there won’t be any money for the children.    
  


  
That’s all he does now – keep himself presentable enough to give the children of this backwater planet some extra coins for food, clothing, and clean water. He takes almost nothing for himself. He does nothing for himself. He services customer after customer, and only eats and sleeps when there’s no other way to keep going.    
  


  
It took him a while to realize what he is doing. He’d told himself this was penance at first, suffering for his sins, doing something good. But the truth is, he doesn’t mind the work enough for this to be real punishment, and the few coins he earns don’t make much of a difference. If he really wanted to suffer, there’d be other things he could do. Maybe just buy a load of explosives and blow himself up over and over again. If he really wanted to help people, there’d be other things he could do, too. Like built a decent irrigation and water filtration system. He has the know-how, but not the drive.   
  


  
No, this is not about any of that. He’s not making a huge, noble gesture. He’s being selfish. He’s simply trying to keep himself as close to dead as he can possibly be. Which is not nearly dead enough for his liking, but oh well.    
  


  
He goes through his days doing almost nothing – just letting things be done to him – and feeling almost nothing. It’s as close as he can get to becoming an object. A lifeless thing.    
  


  
*****   
  


  
Finding an immutable fact in an infinite universe? Easy. After all, he’s a genius. Though why Jack is no longer safely in    
  
  
Cardiff   
but on Plutorine VII, a mining planet with absolutely nothing to recommend it, he has no idea. No matter, though. He’ll snip his fingers and Jack will be in the TARDIS with him, just where he wants him. To provide a bit of a distraction, and bit of a fresh viewpoint, but mostly loyal support. Jack – well, Jack’s the man who in over 150 years has never gone back on “Never doubted him, never will.” Just what he needs now.    


  
He materializes within 20 feet of his quar- err, his friend.    
  


  
*****   
  


  
A flicker in the air, a sound of metal grating on metal. Jack closes his eyes and spits out a curse. God, to think that he once spent over a century consumed by the longing to hear this very sound.    
  


  
He considers running, but he knows he doesn’t have the energy. Besides, there’s no deterring the Doctor once he’s decided to meddle in something. So he just stands there, eyes closed, fists clenched, and waits.    
  


  
He hears the door open, hears trainers grinding the pebbles on the ground as they bound over to him. “Jack! Jackety-Jack! What are you doing here? Got tired of your little team after all?”    
  


  
That gets him to open his eyes and fix the Doctor in a shocked stare. “You don’t know?”   
  


  
“Know? Know what? I know many things. A great many things!” Jack has to look away to stop the impulse to punch the bright grin off the Time Lord’s face.   
  


  
“The 456? They came to Earth, wanted ten percent of our children? To use _as drugs_? Killed Ianto, and I had to kill my own grandson to get rid of them? You’re telling me that was not a fixed point? Not something that had to happen?” He always assumed that was why the Doctor hadn’t been there, why Earth’s Protector had been conspicuous only by his absence during one of the greatest crises Earth had ever faced. But apparently, the Doctor had no idea. This wasn’t predetermination, it was fucking negligence. Jack’s nails dig into the balls of his hands so hard he draws blood. “Then where the hell were you?”   
  


  
The Doctor blinks in confusion. “Children as drugs? But that would be… Were they cyanide-breathers?”    
  


  
“Yes,” Jack hisses, taking a step closer to the Doctor, but still not looking at him. He’s never been this angry at the Time Lord. Never. Not even after the Game Station.   
  


  
“Oh. But… _They_ are not supposed to be on Earth yet! Not for a long time! A very very long time!” The Doctor shakes his head. “Ah well, no matter.”   
  


  
“No matter? _No matter?_ Do you have any idea how many people died?”   
  


  
The Doctor grins. “Pas de probleme, mon capitaine! I’ll fix it!”   
  


  
The ground has just dropped out from under Jack. That’s the only explanation for this unhinged feeling. “Fix it? But… it’s over. Done.”   
  


  
“So?” The Doctor’s grin is getting ever wider.   
  


  
“The…the laws of Time?”   
  


  
“Are mine. And I’m only too happy to break them for a friend.”   
  


  
Shock makes Jack speechless. He stares at the Doctor. And in staring, he notices something. Something he should have seen right away. Would have, if he’d looked at him properly. It’s in his eyes. There’s a darkness there. A hard glitter. Jack has seen it before – but on the face of another Time Lord. “What happened to you?”   
  


  
“Happened? Nothing happened! Well, a great many things, of course – you know me, busy life, always something going on, always on the move, alw-“   
  


  
“Doctor!” The sharpness in his voice makes the Doctor pause and cock his head. He’s completely serious now.   
  


  
“Nothing happened to me, Jack. I just understood. I finally, at long last, understood.”    
  


  
“Understood what?”   
  


  
The Doctor smiles, but there’s nothing warm about it. “I’m not a victim of the Time War. I’m the Time Lord Victorious. Last man standing. And you know what that means?” A bright, but hollow, smile. “I win.”   
  


  
Jack shudders. These words, too, he’s heard before from a different Time Lord.    
  


  
“So, let’s go back to Earth, eh? Fix your little mishap. Will have your grandson and your toy-boy back in a jiffy.”   
  


  
Oh, the temptation. All he has to do is nod, and soon, probably by tonight, he can hear Steven’s laughter again. And it’ll never have happened, so    
  
  
Alice   
won’t hate him. And Ianto… He sways for a moment, imagining Ianto’s embrace, Ianto’s lips on his…    


  
But no. No, he knows better than this. Has learned better from the very man standing in front of him, though he looked different at the time. Jack shakes his head. “You can’t do that! You’ll cause a paradox!”    
  


  
“I can do whatever I want. I’m the last authority of Time. I’m a Time _Lord_. I wasted so much time thinking Time was mine to protect, but it’s not – it’s mine to rule.”   
  


  
The Doctor has gone insane. Something inside him has shattered. And he’s become… he’s become something Jack recognizes. Something dangerous.    
  


  
He’s not sure what happened, what made the Doctor turn against everything he stood for. What could have, when the Time War didn’t. But Jack knows, feels in every fiber of his being, that right now he’s all that’s standing between the Universe and an unhinged God wanting to make it his plaything.    
  


  
He has to stop this. He, who thought he’d never meddle in the affairs of the world again, who’s barely spoken to another being in months, he now has to find the words to prevent a disaster that would make his screw-up with the nanogenes look like a slight hiccough over dinner reservations.    
  


  
Though his heart wants nothing more than let the Doctor go ahead, let the Time Lord break Time to return Jack’s loved ones to him, he knows that this would be _wrong_. Wrong on a level well beyond human understanding or imagination. Jack remembers a line from an old poem – “Who watches the watchmen?” Well, it looks like here and now, it’s him. Guarding the guardian of Time against himself.   
  


  
The Doctor’s still grinning, and that scares Jack more than the Oncoming Storm glare ever did. “So then – allons-y!” He gestures towards the TARDIS with a flourish.   
  


  
The words come out almost automatically. “Yes, Master.”   
  


  
The Doctor stops cold. His face freezes and his eyes fix on Jack’s. “What did you call me?”   
  


  
“Didn’t recognize you at first. Well, I thought you were dead. And how was I to know you’d regenerated into a body that looks just like the Doctor’s?” His voice is shaking. He knows he’s not selling this. The Doctor knows fully well he doesn’t really think he’s the Master. But he hopes he’s driving his point home, anyway.   
  


  
“How dare you-”   
  


  
“Ah, come off it. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? In the centuries I’ve known you, you’ve never once come to find me. Not once. No matter how badly I needed you. So why are you here now? Could it be because… you need me?” Figures that the one time the Doctor comes to see him, the one time he actually calls him a friend to his face, offers to make things better for him, it’s only because the bloody bastard needs something from him, and finds it easier to make a grand gesture than simply ask.    
  


  
“I don’t need anyone. I’m the Time Lord Vic-“   
  


  
“Yeah, you said.” He’s holding the Doctor’s gaze steadily. “And we both know it’s not true. You may be the high and mighty Time Lord, but you do need people.” He takes a deep breath. Thinks back on everything he knows about the Doctor – their time together, Torchwood documents, UNIT files. He spent a lot of time studying those after being abandoned. Tried to find out why the Doctor took companions, why he discarded them again. And he finally came to a conclusion. One that every companion he’s ever discussed it with – Sarah-Jane, Martha, Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart – agrees with.    
  


  
“You know damn well, Doctor - sometimes, you need someone to stop you.”   
  


  
The Doctor looks as if he’s slapped him. He stares at Jack silently, motionless.   
  


  
“And that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Not because you missed me, not because you wanted to see if I’m all right. You’re here because you know, deep down, whether you want to admit it or not, that you need someone to stop you.”    
  


  
There’s an almost imperceptible shift in the Doctor’s stance – a minute slump to his shoulders, a slight tremble to his jaw. Quietly, so quietly that Jack almost can’t hear him, he whispers “I’m going to die. Soon.” His eyes dare Jack to find a retort to this.    
  


  
Jack barks a short, bitter laugh. “You lucky son of a bitch.”    
  


  
They stand silently, locked in a battle for their own sanity and each other’s. Two champions, both fallen, and both wanting to stay down but make the other get up again. Jack’s seeing nothing but those dark, deep eyes staring at him – hours, minutes, he doesn’t know.   
  


  
*****   
  


  
They’ve been standing here staring for eight minutes and thirty-three seconds now. Good thing this area is deserted, except for some street urchins who’re giving them a wide berth, obviously not wanting to get mixed up in the crazy affairs of insane strangers.    
  


  
The Doctor’s staring at Jack, willing him to back down, apologize. How dare this human call him lucky, lucky that he’s going to _die_?   
  


  
As he keeps staring, he begins to take in more and more details of Jack’s appearance. He’s lost weight. His muscles are less defined. Cuts and bruises all over him. His hair is longer than he’s ever seen it, tangled and dull-looking. And his eyes…    
  


  
His eyes are filled with a pain he’s never seen anywhere outside a mirror.   
  


  
Damnation, Jack has suffered. Suffered for longer than any human being should even have to live. Longer than their minds are evolved to cope with. And still, Jack’s life has just begun, relatively speaking. There’s so much time left to him, so much more suffering in his future. No reprieve. Ever. And Jack knows it.   
  


  
And he – he’s done nothing to help. He’s run from Jack, he’s used Jack, he’s left Jack on his own when he needed him. Is it any wonder the human called him lucky just now? That wasn’t just spite. His poor friend means it.   
  


  
He can feel his chest contract painfully. One of them will have to give, and damn, this one time it can be him. Jack’s done it for him so many times, has suffered for him, died for him. The Doctor swallows hard. He’s broken the rules of Time, he can break the rules of his own petty pride. Stifling something that’s almost a sob, he steps towards Jack and wraps his arms around him. Giving comfort, but seeking it, too. And just this once, willing to show it. He leans his forehead against Jack’s.   
  


  
First, Jack is rigid under his touch. Unmoving, standing as stiff as they both have for the past minutes. But the Doctor keeps holding on. He allows his body to confess all the fear, all the need, all the loneliness that he can never put into words.    
  


  
Jack takes a shaky breath, sighs, and sags against him. Finally returns the hug. “You can’t bring them back,” he says quietly.    
  


  
“No. No, I can’t. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Jack.” He could kick himself for dangling that carrot in front of Jack. He can’t imagine the strength it must have taken to turn him down. Or well, he can – because it’s a strength he used to have. He’s lived with the power to do absolutely anything, with no one to hold him accountable, ever since the Time War. And, until a few hours ago, he always resisted.    
  


  
But for Jack to have the same strength, without the Time sense and instincts to back it up – that shows a fortitude of character that may, just may, allow Jack to live until the end of Time and remain an agent for good. And for that alone, he deserves all the help he can get.   
  


  
“Come with me anyway?” He takes a deep breath; this is the hardest thing he’s ever said to Jack. “Please?”   
  


  
Jack pulls back, looks at him searchingly. Then he nods. “No more miserable way to die than alone. Trust me, I know.” He slips a hand into the Doctor’s in silent promise.   
  


  
Jack will come with him. They will talk, and the Doctor’ll be able to help him. He has all the time in – well, no, he doesn’t. Not anymore. But whatever time he has left is well-spent on this. Helping Jack, the way the human has helped him so many times. And if that means he won’t have to die alone, that’s a nice bonus.   
  


  
He squeezes Jack’s hand and leads him towards the TARDIS. It won’t be sunshine and roses, but it will be solace. For both of them. Jack will have a new purpose, and a place to rest and gather his strength. Maybe even start to heal. And he will have someone to talk to, someone to take care of, and a bit of companionship.   
  


  
And someone to stop him.    
  


  
The End   



End file.
